Well - it was kind of down to the wire this time around - finished the last hand-written page at around 10:20 last night. That left a little time for editing but not much.
This morning I look around
All my treats are gone - there are empty diet Coke cans spilling out of the recycling bag - coffee has no appeal to me (that'll change) but that can of Red Bull stayed in the fridge (temptation was there around 9:30 last night).
So - what do I have to show for spending a glorious weekend - maybe the best Labour Day weekend in years - sequestered away from my family?
Well - there's a dime-sized callous on my middle finger, my eyes are red, my gut rumbles constantly from all of the sugary, fatty crap I've been spilling into it and my lower back is a chiropractor's wet dream.
Oh - and there's this:
And take a look at this:
That's right kiddies, 137 hand-written pages of fun. If you're not even a little impressed, I encourage you to try it some time. But they're not just words on paper - it's a fully self contained story with a plot, interesting three dimensional characters and everything.
But it's not all joy. There were a few dead soldiers who gave their all and didn't survive the journey:
Actually, I think the guy on the left might have a bit of life left in him.
I must thank my wife who lovingly typed the pages as I brought them up and who shepherded our wild children over the weekend. She even brought me snacks. I'll say it again, I certainly married up.
Now The Platinum Ticket and Patriot have company:
I think three looks much better than two.
And to my new pal Herne?
Thanks for the ride, Antlered Dude!